


alcohol on his lips

by hanzios



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Based on the Tumblr prompt: Flirty insults that lead to the bedroom, off the "Or I could keep you company" era.
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	alcohol on his lips

**Author's Note:**

> i know nothing of flirting but i hope this is enough haha. enjoy!

There’s something about Miller that makes Jackson feel alive again.

Maybe it’s just his years of loneliness talking, but for the first time in a long while, Jackson has laughed genuinely, his stomach aching at the intense happiness he was feeling. The comfort he feels whenever he’s with the other man is too strong to ignore.

It’s a shame they’re just days away from the Death Wave.

The two often find themselves hanging out in the mansion’s common areas, most frequently in the kitchen. A fully-stocked pantry is a luxury they’ve never been afforded, so they try to make the best of it. Jackson isn’t really as good a cook as Murphy, but so far, Miller has never spit out his dishes. He sees that as a good sign.

One night, Jackson walks back to the mansion with Miller, an easy conversation between them. He wonders if it’s a coincidence that whenever Jackson finishes his shifts, Miller is always there to offer to walk with him. It certainly makes the doctor’s heart beat unnaturally.

When they reach the mansion, Miller asks, “What’s for dinner?”

“Oh, am I your personal chef now?” Jackson retorts, already walking to a shelf.

“You know I can’t cook to save my life.”

“That, I do,” he teases, rummaging through the canned goods until finding something he actually likes. Growing up in the Ark, Jackson couldn’t be picky about the food he eats. Which is why he’s making the most of this journey, momentarily pretending this house is his and the apocalypse isn’t nearing.

When he closes the pantry door, Jackson finds Miller looking through the shelves on top of the stove, his shirt riding up a little, revealing a bit of his toned hip. The sight of skin makes Jackson’s body yearn for something animal; something he hasn’t had for so long.

Jackson quickly averts his gaze, warmth spreading down his body.

“ _Now_ we’re talkin’,” Miller says, taking down a bottle of wine from the shelf. He shakes it in front of Jackson. “Dinner’s served.”

Jackson finds himself beaming, setting down the canned meat on the counter. He searches for some wine glasses and find two of them close by. He extends one glass to Miller, but the man merely shakes his head.

“Not here. I don’t wanna share this with Murphy,” Miller says. He’s already turning around when he just says, “Bedroom.”

There it is again. The feeling in his gut.

Jackson takes a second, swallowing, before following Miller, wine glasses in hand. When they’re at Miller’s bedroom, the soldier closes the door behind him.

“You look like you haven’t done this before,” he comments before walking past Jackson to sit on his bed. In all honesty, Jackson doesn’t know what ‘ _this_ ’ Miller is referring to.

He decides to play it safe. “Alcohol on the Ark was limited. I never liked the taste, anyway.”

“Alright, Mr. Goody Two Shoes,” Miller teases. He pops open the cork easily, taking the wine glasses Jackson offers. The man pours a generous amount of wine into their glasses, almost filling them to the brim. “Drink up. This is Earth liquor. It’s probably better than any moonshine on space.”

Miller places the bottle on the bedside drawer before raising his glass to Jackson. “To saving the world.”

Jackson snorts. “To saving the world.” Before he clinks the glass, he says, “Or trying to, anyway.”

The younger man rolls his eyes, a smirk plastered on his lips. He touches their glasses together before taking a large gulp of the wine. Jackson does the same, watching Miller’s Adam’s apple bob at the drink.

“Oh, _wow,_ ” Miller says, licking his upper lip. “If I die in a week, I’ll die a happy man.”

Jackson understands what he means. The wine is definitely better than any drink he’s ever tasted in the Ark. It’s sweet, fruity, with a slightly sour kick. That must be the alcohol. He finds himself downing the entire glass in one go, oblivious of Miller watching him with a sly smile.

After, he extends his hand to ask for more.

Miller is chuckling, refilling his glass. “Look at you, letting loose for once.”

“Like you said, the world’s ending. Why the hell not?” Jackson says. He takes his drink once again, every drop giving him more courage to say whatever’s on his brain. Living most of his life alcohol-free has made the man a lightweight. It’s almost funny how easily he’s becoming tipsy over the wine.

“I like seeing you like this, Jackson,” Miller comments, sipping his glass generously.

“Opposed to the bore I usually am?”

That statement makes Miller frown. He takes a moment before saying, “If you’re such a bore, why have I been hanging out with you?”

Jackson shrugs, not really able to answer that question. Why _is_ Miller hanging out with him, and not his other friends like Murphy or Raven? He shakes his head, gulping down his wine instead.

Before he could get a word in, his left arm suddenly sears in pain. He winces visibly, head darting to his wound. It’s been like that for days now; small bouts of stinging every once in a while. It’s typical for recovery, but it’s not like Jackson has been shot before.

“You okay?” Miller asks, worried. He sets his half-full glass on the table.

Jackson nods. “Yeah. Fine.”

“That was a nasty bullet wound, you know,” Miller says, moving closer to Jackson just the slightest bit. With a smirk, he adds, “Glad I was there to save your life.”

Jackson turns to him, and mockingly says, “My hero.”

“All in a day’s work, doc,” Miller replies.

Under the soft light of the bulbs, Miller’s eyes look deliciously brown, outlined by thick dark lashes and a stare that can make any man fall to his knees. And, well, Jackson’s merely just a man, after all. He puts all his fears behind him and captures the younger man’s lips, tasting the alcohol on his mouth.

Miller moans in surprise, but it doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate the kiss, moving in coordination with Jackson. The soldier pushes forward, hands on Jackson’s hips, their kiss getting hungrier by the second. Jackson lets himself fall on his back, a hand on Miller’s shirt, tugging him closer. He feels himself get even more intoxicated by the taste of wine on Miller’s tongue.

Suddenly, as if a switch has been flipped, his mind sobers instantly. They pull away for breath, and Jackson says, “Wait. What if someone sees us?”

Miller’s breath is hot on his neck. “Don’t want these people knowing how corrupted you are, Jackson?”

“Maybe I just don’t want someone walking in on us,” Jackson says. He doesn’t know why he’s even rambling or worried; he’s got _Nathan Miller_ on top of him, for Christ’s sake. “Like, I don’t know, _Roan_.” He blurts out the name randomly.

Miller pulls away for a second to look at Jackson. “Hmm. That’s kinda hot.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, laughing. He pounds a fist softly at Miller’s chest. “Ha! You’d like that, don’t you?”

Miller’s mouth forms a devilish grin. He goes back to the nape of Jackson’s neck, his breath hot against the older man’s skin. “Not as much as I like you, though.” That makes Jackson’s chest fill with such strong desire, head spinning at Miller’s touch.

He grabs the man’s hips, pulling him closer, their clothed thighs grinding against each other.

“ _Oh,_ ” Miller growls, pausing to look at Jackson yet again. One look at the doctor’s flustered expression, and he laughs. Jackson decides it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “Patience, Jackson.”

“ _Tease_.”

“I could get used to this,” Miller taunts, their faces merely an inch to each other.

“If you don’t get bored of me.”

There’s something about how Miller’s looking at him that makes Jackson dizzier than any form of alcohol ever could. “Not possible.” Miller says it so softly that Jackson couldn’t take it anymore.

He pulls the man down, kissing him hard, tasting the wine on Miller’s tongue. Miller moans in his mouth, matching his intensity, but clearly not in a rush.

If they do die in a couple of days, Jackson thinks, he dies a happy man.


End file.
